


Risk and Reward

by Philosopher_King



Series: The Three-Body Problem [8]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Air Nomad Genocide (Avatar), Assassination Attempt(s), Established Relationship, F/M, Hand Jobs, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Mai/Ty Lee (Avatar), Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28324587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosopher_King/pseuds/Philosopher_King
Summary: Aang and Katara come to the Fire Nation Palace after Zuko is injured in an assassination attempt nine years after the end of the Hundred-Year War.
Relationships: Aang/Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: The Three-Body Problem [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1652515
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	Risk and Reward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [korvidae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/korvidae/gifts).



> Zutaraang holiday exchange gift fic for korvidae, written to the prompt: "Established relationship, Maiko-friendly (background is totally fine); need some 'comforting/cozy/caring for each other' vibes following some difficult ordeal. (I'm fine with injury or anything like that; slightly angsty hurt/comfort is also fine by me). Bonus points for autumnal settings. Smut is appreciated but not required."
> 
> It got... longer than I intended. This happens to me a lot.
> 
> For the benefit of one of my younger readers, I've put in a horizontal line marking a section break right before the NSFW-ish things that earn the fic a 'Mature' rating, then another line marking when it becomes SFW again. Those who are not bothered by such things can ignore the lines.

Katara swept through the halls of the Fire Nation Royal Palace like a hurricane, hand perched threateningly on the skin of water at her hip, while Aang followed in the path she had cleared, apologizing hurriedly to disconcerted servants and indignant officials standing pressed against the walls to let her pass. Katara had no trouble finding her way to the infirmary; she had spent a fair amount of time there in the days after Sozin’s Comet, helping to tend Zuko’s wound from Azula’s lightning, as well as the less life-threatening ailments of the combatants from the Day of Black Sun who were being released from Fire Nation prisons on the orders of the new Fire Lord.

Standing on either side of the door to the infirmary were two members of the elite guard corps that Ty Lee had founded and trained after Suki moved to Cranefish Town (now Republic City) to be with Sokka. Their uniforms, though in Fire Nation red and black, took inspiration from the battle dress of the Kyoshi Warriors (minus the makeup), and Aang recognized the woman to the left of the door as Katsumi, one of Suki’s warriors who had stayed to continue guarding the Fire Lord.

“How is he?” Katara was already demanding when they were still halfway down the hall.

Katsumi waited to answer until they were standing in front of her; she didn’t want to broadcast the answer to the entire palace staff. “He’s not in great shape… but he’ll live. It’s a good thing you’re here.” The guards stepped aside to let Katara and Aang in; Aang gave them a small, grateful smile as he walked through the doorway past them.

Zuko was lying on a futon by the wall of the infirmary, dressed in a pale robe the color of baked clay—not white, as the medics of the Northern Water Tribe might have used, because in the Fire Nation white was the color of death, but light enough that it would show any blood soaking through his bandages. His eyes were closed, his face much paler than usual—almost ashen, the red of the scar over his left eye a strangely stark contrast—and sheened with sweat that beaded above his upper lip; his breathing was fast and shallow.

Beside his futon knelt Mai and Ty Lee. The latter had bruises on her face, a bandage over her nose, and her right arm in a sling, but she still smiled brightly when she saw Aang and Katara. She started to stand up to greet them, but Mai put a cautioning hand on her knee—discouraging any sudden movements that might exacerbate her injuries.

Mai released her hold on Zuko’s hand and rose with her usual fluid grace, the expression on her face even grimmer than usual. She stepped forward to greet Aang and Katara with a slight bow and said, “Thank you for coming.”

Aang returned her bow and said, “We could never have stayed away.”

Katara was already kneeling next to Zuko’s bed, a hand on his wrist to take his pulse. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled wanly when he saw her.

“This feels strangely familiar,” he said. His voice was thin and breathy, but his tone was wry.

“Of course it does,” Katara retorted, not meeting his eyes as she parted the skirt of his robe to uncover the bandages wrapped around his left thigh. There was a touch of red already seeping through. “You always need me to save your sorry ass when you’ve done something stupid.”

“I didn’t do anything!” he protested weakly.

A distinguished-looking older man, his brown gaze stern through wire-rimmed spectacles and his topknot-bound hair liberally sprinkled with gray and white, emerged from a back room, followed by a younger woman, whose expression was softer and faintly amused. Aang recognized them as Riu, the palace doctor, and Ohta, his assistant and designated successor. Since Azula, in her brief reign, had neglected to banish them, they had been there to help Katara treat Zuko and the others who were wounded in the waning days of the Hundred-Year War.

“Avatar Aang, Master Katara,” Doctor Riu greeted them, and he and Ohta both bowed with their hands forming the proper flame shape. Aang returned the bow, while Katara, still sitting at Zuko’s side, twisted around to smile up at them warmly. “It’s good to see you again,” she said.

“Though of course we all wish it were under different circumstances,” said Riu, nodding down at her before she turned around again to continue unwrapping Zuko’s bloodstained bandages. “We have done what we could to treat the Fire Lord’s wound, but there is only so much that we non-bending doctors _can_ do,” Riu continued. “Master Katara will do much to speed his healing and assure his complete recovery.”

“You saved his life and _kept_ him alive until Katara could arrive,” said Aang, “and for that we are in your debt—the whole world is.”

“Saved my life _again_ ,” Zuko muttered from the floor. Aang looked down and saw that Katara was holding a glowing layer of water over his leg; he could see an elongated puncture wound in the skin, starting to close even as he watched, but still leaking blood that was gradually staining the blue-white light of the healing water with pink.

The ‘again’ was because—as Aang had learned after the end of the war nine years ago—Riu and Ohta had been there to treat Zuko’s burns after Fire Lord Ozai maimed his son in a grotesque parody of an Agni Kai. A surge of remembered gratitude made Aang want to throw his arms around the old doctor and his apprentice, to thank them for saving thirteen-year-old Zuko so that he could go on to meet Aang and Katara, to become their pursuer and adversary, then their ally and friend, and now their lover (though of course he could not thank them aloud for _that_ ). But he refrained—such effusiveness was frowned upon in this propriety-obsessed nation—and instead said simply, “We are in your debt twice over.”

“It is Ty Lee to whom you owe the debt this time,” said Doctor Riu, nodding in her direction. “If not for her vigilance and courage, the Fire Nation would even now be in the midst of a succession crisis.”

“Just doing my job,” said Ty Lee, her voice still bright and cheerful—though with her nose bandaged it sounded muffled and she couldn’t form nasal consonants, so it came out as “Just doig by job.” Mai subtly rolled her eyes at the show of modesty. Then Ty Lee’s expression grew troubled and she fretted, “If I had been _more_ vigilant, Zu— the Fire Lord wouldn’t have needed doctors in the first place…”

“No one could have done more,” said Mai; her voice was sharp, but the comforting squeeze she gave to Ty Lee’s knee was gentle. “Katsumi didn’t see him any sooner than you did; neither did Zuko—and his eye and instinct are as sharp as any warrior’s.”

“What happened, exactly?” Aang asked them. The note that Mai sent by messenger hawk to Republic City had been frustratingly terse: just _“Zuko wounded, come quickly.”_

“A Yuyan Archer,” Mai said grimly. “He hasn’t said who hired him… but he will.”

“I thought Yuyan Archers didn’t talk,” Aang said, a little puzzled. He had been captured by some of them at Pohuai Stronghold, and they had communicated with each other only by hand signals that he couldn’t understand.

“Maybe not… but he can write,” said Mai. “As long as his dominant hand is uninjured…”

Aang’s jaw dropped with shock at the implication, but no one else in the room seemed perturbed in the least—not even the doctors, who he would have thought might object to deliberately injuring another human being.

“I thought Yuyan Archers didn’t _miss_ ,” Katara put in sharply—speaking for the first time since she had begun healing Zuko’s wound. “I have a feeling that whoever hired him wanted to _kill_ the Fire Lord, not put him on crutches.”

“They miss when they’re tackled just as they’re taking aim,” said Ty Lee, allowing herself a hint of well-earned smugness. Mai’s lips curved ever so slightly upward and she patted her friend’s knee proudly.

“I take it that’s how you ended up with…” Katara jerked her chin toward Ty Lee’s bruised and bandaged face and sling-bound arm. Ty Lee nodded, then hissed with pain and put her left hand over her bandaged nose.

“No sudden head movements, remember?” Doctor Riu said sternly. Ty Lee looked sheepish.

“I’ll get to you next, after I’m finished with Zuko— _Fire Lord_ Zuko,” Katara corrected herself, glancing up at the palace doctors. “Can you get me a basin and some fresh bandages?” she asked.

Aang looked down again and saw that Zuko’s wound was almost entirely closed; only a faint pink vertical line was visible where just a few minutes ago he had been bleeding through his bandages. Katara noticed Aang’s questioning gaze and explained, “I’ve closed it for now, but it might still reopen if he moves too much.” She punctuated that comment with a meaningful glare at Zuko, who—already looking more animated than he had when they arrived—put a hand to his chest and opened his mouth in an expression of offense, as if to say _‘Who, me?’_ “I might have to do some more work on it tomorrow; I’ll see how his body is doing with the nudge I gave it.”

Ohta bustled over to some cabinets against the wall and quickly retrieved a shallow ceramic bowl, a roll of clean white gauze, and a pair of formidable-looking scissors. She handed them down to Katara, who released the blood-tinged healing water into the bowl, then eased Zuko’s leg into a loosely bent position so that she could wrap the gauze around his thigh. With a slightly embarrassed look, Zuko tugged the other side of his robe down so that no one would be treated to a view of what was between his thighs.

Katara finished pinning the bandages closed and turned to Ty Lee. She carefully peeled away the bandage that had been secured to her face by some adhesive paste—Ty Lee hissed again, but held herself still—and summoned some of her bending water to envelop the broken nose and bruised flesh surrounding it. Ty Lee let out a long, deep sigh as the bruises faded under the glowing water and her flattened nose gradually straightened itself out. When Katara pulled the water back away from her face, only a faint stripe of pink marked the line just below the bridge of her nose where the break had been.

Next, Katara eased Ty Lee’s arm out of its sling and found her wrist and forearm wrapped in bandages. “Sprained wrist and dislocated shoulder,” Ohta explained. “Do you need fresh water?”

“That would be very helpful, thank you.” Katara slowly unwrapped the bandages around Ty Lee’s wrist; the patient made a high-pitched humming noise and directed her gaze toward the corner of the ceiling. “Sorry,” said Katara. “It’ll feel better soon.” Mai took hold of Ty Lee’s left hand, interlaced their fingers, and clasped their hands tightly together. Ty Lee gave her a pained but grateful smile.

Ohta finished filling a ceramic jug from a tap in the wall and placed it on the floor beside Katara. Katara drew out some of the water from the jug and wrapped it around Ty Lee’s wrist; she blew out another long breath as the pain eased.

“Does Zuko still need to stay here overnight?” Aang asked Doctor Riu while Katara continued to work. “I thought he might be more comfortable in his own room.”

“He should be all right as long as he is not left alone. The Fire Lady, at least, should stay with him… though it might be best if Master Katara were to sleep nearby. Assuming you’re all comfortable with such an arrangement.”

As far as Aang could tell, the doctor knew nothing of the nature of the ‘arrangement’ that the young heroes of the Hundred-Year War had with each other. Master Katara _and_ her husband the Avatar had every intention of sleeping near Fire Lord Zuko… while tonight, Fire Lady Mai would no doubt wish to stay in her own quarters with her more-than-friend who had put herself in harm’s way to save the life of her husband.

“Fine with me,” said Katara, not looking up from the globe of glowing water that was now enveloping Ty Lee’s right shoulder. “I’ll make sure to stay within earshot in case there’s a problem.”

Riu and Ohta released Zuko from the infirmary with a pair of wooden crutches, their tops and handles padded and wrapped in soft leather. But on his way back to his chambers, he leaned on Mai and Katara’s shoulders, gingerly trying to place as little weight as possible on his left leg, while Aang carried the crutches behind them, and Katsumi and her fellow guard (a young Fire Nation man named Zheng) flanked them watchfully. Servants and officials cleared the halls for them again, this time with deep bows and genuine smiles and murmurs of “Agni’s blessings, Fire Lord Zuko” rather than the dismay and terror that Katara had inspired on her way to the infirmary. Aang was gratified to see that the people around Zuko loved him, whatever the plans of would-be assassins.

Together, Zuko’s wife and his lovers helped ease him between the red silken sheets of his own bed and prop him comfortably against a wall of red-and-gold pillows, embroidered with various emblems of the Fire Nation: dragons, phoenixes, flames, the stylized sun known as ‘Agni’s eye.’ His face was still worryingly pale, his cheeks sunken and his right eye underlined by deep shadow, but he looked far more cheerful now, his mouth no longer tight with pain, and his breathing had deepened and steadied.

Ty Lee stayed with Zuko, with Katsumi guarding the door and Zheng standing guard outside the window that opened onto an inner courtyard, while Aang, Katara, and Mai went to fetch dinner. Zuko grumbled when they brought him a giant bowl of soup—miso and pig-chicken broth with noodles, vegetables, and slices of meat—while everyone else was eating solid food (fish, rice, and seaweed for everyone except Aang, who ate his favorite spiced noodles with vegetables and egg that the palace cooks made for him whenever he visited).

“Every time I have to see Doctor Riu, I end up eating nothing but soup for days,” Zuko complained. “I swear, the man has some kind of obsession with soup.”

“The doctor said you lost a lot of blood, so you need to replace the salt and fluid,” Aang told him piously.

“And you’re the one who’ll be helping me to the bathroom when I wake up in the middle of the night needing to piss…”

For a while they were quiet while everyone ate; after a taxing few days, they were all hungrier than they had realized.

When she was about halfway through the food on her plate, Katara paused, put down her chopsticks, and asked quietly, “Do you have any ideas about _why_ someone tried to assassinate Zuko? Why now, I mean?”

Mai and Ty Lee exchanged an uneasy look, while Zuko pretended to be very preoccupied with his soup.

“It’s impossible to know,” Mai said carefully. “There are always nobles who are disgruntled about some policy decision that hinders their ability to make money from their land, or dissatisfied with the way Zuko resolved a dispute between two provinces. Fishing and trade agreements, mining restrictions, levels of imports or exports to and from other nations…”

“You don’t sound convinced that that’s all it is,” Katara remarked.

Mai sighed. “No. We think it’s more likely that it has something to do with either the United Republic… or the apology.”

Ah, so that’s why Zuko was so intently not looking at anyone: he hadn’t wanted to talk about the reason for the attack because he didn’t want Aang to feel that it was in any way his fault.

The United Republic had been officially founded more than a year before, but there was still a constant stream of news about it flowing to the Fire Nation and nearby parts of the Earth Kingdom: the completion and dedication of important buildings and monuments (including a statue of Zuko, which thoroughly embarrassed him); a rising tide of migration, especially of young people, to the flowering center of opportunity that was Republic City.

Then there was the fact that a month ago, on the hundred-and-tenth anniversary of the Air Nomad Genocide, Zuko had formally apologized to Avatar Aang—the last survivor of his people—and pledged that the Fire Nation would pay to restore the Air Temples to their former wholeness and beauty (with the exception that the modifications the mechanist had made to the Northern Air Temple would remain for the benefit of those who still lived there). Many in the Fire Nation complained that the Fire Lord had debased himself—and by extension his whole nation—by assuming guilt and begging forgiveness, even going so far as to kneel before Aang with his forehead to the ground in a supplicant’s pose. Even Mai had objected to Zuko’s proposed intention to make that gesture—not because she thought it excessive or unwarranted, but because she feared the backlash within the Fire Nation. Now, it seemed, her fears had been proven to be justified.

Aang reflected on whether he _did_ feel culpable, as Zuko and Mai seemed to expect he would. Zuko was capable of making his own decisions, and understood the risks that came along with them. Aang took on some of the same risks when he got involved in international politics; so did Katara, and Sokka, and even Toph. But he also knew that Zuko took on far more danger than any of them did, since he was the ruler of the nation whose pride had been profoundly wounded in the war, a ruler who had contributed to his own nation’s defeat and was now trying to convince his people that that humbling defeat, and the acknowledgment of their nation’s guilt, were somehow better for them than victory. It was an impossible position to be in; it was no wonder that it had almost broken Zuko in his first year as Fire Lord, and that he was still having to dodge assassins’ arrows nine years on.

Did Aang blame himself for exposing Zuko to that danger—in the one instance, by pursuing his dream of a nation for people of all Nations; in the other by—what, by existing? By having survived when all of his people were meant to have died? Well, he did blame himself for that, but not on Zuko’s account. He had never asked Zuko to make an official apology or to pay for the restoration of the Temples; those ideas had been Zuko’s alone. Of course it grieved him that Zuko had been hurt, and it grieved him all the more to think that it was because of things he had done for Aang’s sake. But he found that he didn’t feel any guilt—and he wondered whether he should.

“I don’t regret a thing,” Zuko said stubbornly, still looking down at his soup.

“Nor should you,” Katara declared. She cast a frosty look toward Mai and Ty Lee, daring them to say he should have done otherwise. They both glanced at Aang, expecting him to say something—probably to apologize for putting Zuko in harm’s way. But he couldn’t do that, in good faith. Nor could he agree aloud with Katara without sounding… selfish, somehow.

No one said anything. They all went back to eating in silence. Over the last of their meal and tea afterward, they talked about other things: daily life in Republic City or the Fire Nation Capital; the challenges of building a new nation or rebuilding one after a century of waging war.

Mai and Ty Lee volunteered to take their dishes back to the kitchen; Ty Lee insisted that her wrist and shoulder felt fine, but Katara objected to her carrying anything at all heavy, so she went with them—declining Aang’s offer to help, and telling him to stay with Zuko.

After a few moments of somewhat uncomfortable silence, Aang asked awkwardly, “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Zuko said, a little too brightly. “Still tired, but it doesn’t hurt much anymore.” He looked down and started picking at a loose thread in the embroidered dragon on his coverlet, then, tentatively, asked, “Are you all right?” His eyes, when he met Aang’s, looked apologetic.

Aang wasn’t sure why everyone seemed to think one of them needed to feel guilty about what had happened. No one was at fault here except the archer and whoever had paid him.

“You did the right thing,” Aang told Zuko, his voice quiet and firm, his gaze communicating as much calm confidence as he could manage. “I’m sorry that you had to pay for it… but I’m grateful that you did it anyway.”

“Well, we don’t know what exactly I’m paying for,” Zuko said, looking away again.

“I think I know. And I want you to know that I love you for doing all you’ve done, despite knowing what the cost might be.” He paused. “Among other things, of course.” He quirked a smile, trying to lighten the suddenly somber mood.

“You can tell me everything you love about me… after I’ve emptied my bladder.”

Aang snorted and helped Zuko gingerly slide out of bed and limp to the toilet. “Wait a little farther away, you’re making me nervous,” Zuko said through the closed door, and Aang laughed and went back into the bedroom until Zuko called for assistance to get to the sink to wash up, and then back into bed.

Katara returned just as Aang was helping Zuko adjust the pillows and blankets around him. “How are you feeling?” she asked, and Zuko rolled his eyes at the repetition, though Katara’s question was accompanied by a close examination of his eyes and the color of his cheeks (less pale since dinner), and a hand gauging the temperature of his face and then taking the pulse at his wrist.

“I don’t know, Master Healer Katara, how _am_ I feeling?”

“Much better than earlier, as far as I can tell, but only you can tell me how much pain you’re in.”

“Hardly any, thanks to you.”

“Good,” said Katara, preening a little with well-deserved pride.

Aang went to visit Appa briefly before rejoining his wife and their lover for bed. Appa was, as he had expected, well taken care of; the palace grooms were all very taken with the sky bison and were eager to help brush out his fluffy coat, clean between his massive toes, and woo him with treats of fruit. The grooms fussing over him scattered in a flurry of bows when Aang showed up, and Appa greeted him… politely, Aang thought, badly concealing his disappointment at losing all that devoted attention. “Well, I see you’re doing just fine,” said Aang knowingly, and gave Appa a last fond pat before he went back to the Fire Lord’s chambers, exchanging familiar nods with entirely too many of Zuko’s guards as he passed through archways and doors. But how necessary they all were, he knew now too well.

Katsumi was the last to let him pass through the door to Zuko’s room, with a slight sly smile. Zuko’s personal guards were aware of their arrangement and sworn to silence; Katsumi, having been a Kyoshi Warrior when they were still serving as the Fire Lord’s personal guard, had known of the arrangement since its inception, and seemed to take a certain personal pride in its continued success.

Katara had stripped down to her sarashi and was sitting in bed with Zuko; it sounded like they were trading complaints about dealing with fussy, self-important diplomats and bureaucrats from the Earth Kingdom and the Northern Water Tribe. “Appa is over me,” Aang announced, already removing his outer garments for bed. “He wants to move here and be doted on by the palace grooms forever.”

“Eh, it’ll get old soon enough,” Zuko assured him.

Bared to the waist, Aang went to the bathroom to wash up—he was still a little sweaty from the hurried journey from Republic City; had it begun only that morning?—and then got into bed beside Zuko. Zuko turned toward him with a grateful smile and Aang leaned in to capture his lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

* * *

“How tired are you?” Aang asked in a low voice when they parted. “Do you just want to sleep, or are you… _up_ for more anything more energetic?”

“Nothing _too_ energetic,” Katara admonished from Zuko’s other side. “He’s still affected by the blood loss, and I don’t want the wound reopening in bed.”

“Of course not! No, I wasn’t envisioning him having to move at all.” Aang slithered down the bed, pulling the covers down with him, and then slid back up between Zuko’s legs. Zuko, watching him, had an amused and somewhat flustered smile on his face, and his cheeks showed more color than Aang had seen on them all day. Aang focused his attention on what was immediately in front of him and saw another part of Zuko’s body starting to express interest under the light linen robe.

“What do you think, Healer Katara?” Zuko asked, playful and slightly breathless.

Katara sighed and rolled her eyes, feigning reluctance. “Yes, all right. But I’ll be monitoring the patient carefully to make sure he’s not being… overtaxed.” She punctuated the word with a kiss to Zuko’s jaw, and he closed his eyes with a sigh of pleasure, which turned into a groan when Aang lowered his head to take him into his mouth.

He was slow and gentle with his attentions, careful not to disturb Zuko’s bandaged leg. Katara sometimes had to remind Zuko not to move it, when he started to reflexively bend his knees to spread his legs wider and push at the mattress with restless, flexing feet; he settled for doing that only with his right leg, while Aang kept a firm, gentle hand on the outside of his left thigh to hold it still.

When he raised his head to catch his breath or readjust his neck, Aang was delighted to watch Katara kneeling beside where Zuko sat propped against the pillows, kissing him languidly, her mouth roving from his lips down his jaw to his neck and exposed clavicles, her fingers combing through and tugging at his long unbound hair while he unwrapped her sarashi to massage her breasts. He pulled her toward him to take a nipple into his mouth and she moaned softly and gripped his hair more tightly, her palms braced against his scalp. Aang found himself thrusting against the mattress even as he lowered his head again to resume the work of his mouth.

“Aang, I’m going to—” Zuko eventually panted against Katara’s neck, and Aang just nodded, not taking his mouth away; unlike Katara, he had found that he didn’t mind the earthy-salty-bitter taste that flooded over his tongue as Zuko gasped and his hips shuddered. After he pulled away, Aang smoothed Zuko’s robe down and pulled the covers over him as he slid back up beside him. Zuko turned away from Katara for a moment to kiss Aang, firmly and deeply; aching with arousal and desperate for friction, Aang ground his still-clothed erection against Zuko’s right hip.

“I’m getting too old to get off that way,” Aang complained when Zuko released his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Zuko panted with a grin. “Ah, the travails of aging…”

“ _I_ don’t mind that it takes longer,” Katara quipped over Zuko’s head.

“Hey,” Aang huffed.

“Just for that, I’m seeing to him first,” Zuko announced, and turned to reach into Aang’s trousers. Aang sighed with relief as Zuko’s hand wrapped around him and started to stroke with a steady, practiced rhythm. Zuko kissed him again and Aang whimpered into his mouth as he came.

“I love you,” he said again when their lips parted.

“Are you sure that’s not just the orgasm talking?” Zuko teased him… but something in his voice told Aang that he genuinely needed the reassurance.

“Yes, I’m sure. I love you and I want you to not get yourself killed. Can you do that for me?”

“I’ll try,” Zuko said, and it sounded like he meant it. “I might need some help, though. From Ty Lee, and from Katara.”

“What are friends for?” Katara said, brushing Zuko’s hair back from his scarred left ear. He turned back toward her with an amused grin.

“I don’t know, what _are_ friends for? I spent the first sixteen years of my life not having any, then after that we’ve kept getting ourselves in and out of mortal danger together. Something tells me that’s not how most people do it.”

“You have a charming way of saying really depressing things as if they’re supposed to be funny,” Aang remarked from behind him.

“Uh. Sorry?” Zuko said, somewhat distractedly, over Katara’s head as she kissed his throat (a convenient thing about having a waterbending healer for a lover was that suspicious-looking marks could be quickly removed).

From the breathy sounds Katara was making against Zuko’s neck and the rhythmic movements of his arm under the covers, Aang inferred that Zuko was doing her the same courtesy he had just done for Aang. He pressed himself against Zuko’s side—he was still lying on his back, to avoid putting too much weight on his injured leg—and nuzzled the side of his neck, breathing in the scent of his sweat and a hint of the medicinal smell of the infirmary. He let his hand drift along Zuko’s arm to the hand that was working between Katara’s legs, then to her sarashi-clad hip to ride its shuddering thrusts as she neared completion. She bit down on Zuko’s shoulder just before she came, her thighs clamped tightly around his hand, pinning it in place while she rode out the waves of her release.

“Oof,” she said, and parted her legs to give Zuko his hand back.

* * *

“Maybe I should get myself injured more often,” Zuko mused. “Not life-threateningly, of course,” he clarified, recalling his promise to Aang. “But enough that you have to rush to my bedside.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Katara warned him dryly, settling in against his side.

“Hey, it’s held out this long. My terrible, wonderful luck.”

“What do you mean?” Aang asked.

“I mean I keep missing death by a hair’s breadth. So either I’m very unlucky, or very lucky… or both. I’ve decided I’m lucky to be unlucky, because something wonderful often comes out of the near misses.”

“Even…?” Katara’s hand brushed the lower edge of Zuko’s scar.

“Yes, even that one.” He caught her hand and kissed her fingers. “It brought me to the two of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Revisiting the theme of "Two who are lucky" ( _Gay Science_ 303) that I introduced in [Angle of Incidence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23974972/chapters/57667084). The idea that Zuko made a formal apology to Aang for the Air Nomad Genocide first showed up in my gen vignette [Something Past and Whole](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23846269).
> 
> Doctor OCs borrowed from my gen fic [Between the Salt Water and the Sea Strand](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24295465/chapters/58564027) (which otherwise isn't in the same universe as this one, because it's part of my Chaos Avatar Zuko AU); Kyoshi Warrior/guard OC Katsumi has appeared in previous fics in my Zutaraang series.


End file.
